Chapter 29
Luna
Unerringly, Isaac leads me to The Silk Purse.
It’s tucked halfway down one of the older streets in town, all warm lighting and soft jazz playing in the background.
It is the place I found my engagement dress.
They have a few expensive, exclusive pieces by their in-house designer.
My dress was a vintage, frothy purple Marilyn Monroe dress with a deep V showing off the girls.
My legs looked fabulous, and it had made me feel like I was living a dream.
I had splurged half a paycheck on that dress and let Isaac buy the groceries for the rest of the month.
It also has a few select second-hand designer pieces, as well as some beautiful, affordable options by a junior designer. The boutique smells like clean linen, one of my favourite smells in the world.
As a frequent customer—or at least browser—Laura, who owns the shop, has become a close friend. Isaac trails behind me, carrying Amelie in the baby carrier strapped to his chest.
Laura immediately has that face people get when they see my baby.
“Aaaaw … Who is this adorable muffin,” Laura asks Amelie with bright, shining eyes. She looked like Christmas has come early. My cheerful baby allows herself to be carried around and admired while I browse and Isaac offers opinions.
It lasts about ten minutes until she spots Isaac and babbles, kicking her feet out like she is trying to swim towards him.
“She’s judging me for letting the ladies take her,” he mutters as we walk past a rack of dresses.
“She’s only four months old, Isaac.” I try to hide the smile.
“Exactly. Peak judgement age. It’s downhill from here, mark my words. The next thing you know, she is bringing home a tattooed biker old enough to be her grandpa because of her daddy issues,” Isaac grumbles.
Amelie stares up at him with enormous, solemn green eyes before promptly trying to eat his shirt.
“See?” he says. “Disrespect. She is spitting at me. The next thing you know, it will be pee and shit.”
I laugh despite myself and drift towards a rail of colourful dresses.
I feel filmy chiffons and gossamer fabrics.
It feels … strange being here again … stepping back into an old version of myself.
The one who liked to dress up and stop Isaac in his tracks after a day spent under engines with grease stains on my face.
I am startled to see my husband watch me with what looks glossy eyes, not sure about what set him off.
The spell is broken when the sales assistant comes up to me with a selection and starts piling options into my arms while Isaac quietly settles into a chair near the fitting rooms and chats with Amelie.
The first dress is a disaster.
It is too tight around my boobs, which now feel like melons.
The print of the second one reminds me of a circus tent.
As for the third … I stare at myself in the mirror silently. It’s clingy in all the wrong places.
My hand moves to my stomach. It is soft and squishy. I have a pooch.
“I hate this,” I mutter as I look at myself in the mirror. My backside looks massive.
A now familiar feeling of … unattractiveness invades me.
I hold the fabric away from my body and stare harder.
“I want my old body back,” I tell myself. I watch as Isaac comes up, and I try to smile.
“I want my tight, muscular body,” I sigh and turn slightly sideways, flexing an arm like a bodybuilder.
Except now, there’s softness where there used to be a flat waist and a bubble butt.
My eyes suddenly sting.
God, how embarrassing to turn into a cry-baby. I blink quickly, but one tear escapes anyway.
Isaac doesn’t laugh like I expect him to. He steps into the fitting area, carrying Amelie against his chest, one hand automatically supporting her tiny bum as she gnaws thoughtfully on her fist.
Without a word, he wraps his free arm around my waist from behind.
“You know,” he says quietly, meeting my eyes in the mirror, “I thought you were a total babe the first time I saw you. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
I snort wetly. “Babe?”
“Absolute babe,” he confirms seriously. “The shiny hair. Those gleaming green eyes.” His mouth curves slightly. “And your body …”
I roll my eyes.
“No, listen. Not that I wasn’t attracted to your brain … eventually.” His arm tightens slightly. “I had genuinely never seen anybody look that hot in overalls before.”
I laugh despite myself. “You’re such a liar.”
“I’m serious. I knew after the first date that I would need to get a ring around your finger. I did not like the way that Colin character was hanging around you. He might just turn around and declare that he was bisexual one day.” He kisses my temple lightly. “And then you had Amelie inside you.”
His gaze drops briefly to my stomach.
“And that was hot too. You know how sexy I found you.”
I stare at him. Yes, I did know he had his hands all over me all the time.
“Isaac.”
“No, seriously.” His expression stays completely sincere. “You were glowing. Your boobs were an actual handful.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“And that butt—” I elbow him weakly before he can continue.
“But now,” I interrupt dramatically, gesturing at myself, “I have this extra yucky blubber, my arms wobble, and I think I have a double chin.”
Isaac studies me for a second, holding my face with his hand and turning it slowly from side to side.
Then he shrugs lightly.
“So, you’re a little softer now.”
I squint suspiciously. “That is not helping. Calling a woman fat is never good for your lifespan.”
“No, listen.” His hand slides gently over my waist. “I loved the muscular you.” Another kiss lands against my hair. “I love the soft you too.”
My chest aches like a wonderful feeling is trying to escape.
“I love every version of you. I was just thinking back there that I almost … almost lost you … And I don’t think I would have survived it,” he says quietly.
“And for the record …” His eyes flick slowly over me.
“I think you’re super, super hot. Let’s dump this little cheeky monkey and make out in the back seat of the car. Or the filling room.”
He says it with such a straight face that it completely undoes me.
Because he means every word.
Amelie suddenly lets out a loud squawk between us. Isaac looks down immediately.
“Oh, no,” he says solemnly. “The tiny feminist thinks I’m objectifying her mother. Listen, you little pipsqueak, you grab her boobs as well, so don’t be looking at me like that.”
That breaks me completely. I start laughing so hard that it gives me a stitch on the side and a tummy ache.
“And she thinks I am a joke,” Isaac murmurs softly, smiling at me in the mirror.
In the end, we find the dress almost by accident. A vintage-style skater dress tucked near the back. The soft cream fabric is scattered with tiny red flowers. It cinches at the waist without squeezing and flares gently over my hips instead of clinging.
When I step out wearing it, Isaac stops talking for Amelie and whistles.
“Oh,” he says.
“What?”
“That’s the one.”
I look in the mirror, and I feel beautiful.
***
The spa smells like eucalyptus and lemon. Soothing music hums through hidden speakers as women in cream uniforms glide around water with a slice of lemon and tiny rolled towels while we wait.
Isaac looks deeply suspicious of everything.
“This place definitely harvests organs on the side. I guess we are going to have to chance it,” he whispers in my ear as we walk in.
I snort.
A woman with perfect skin appears and immediately falls in love with Amelie.
“Oh, my goodness,” she breathes. “Who is this precious?”
Amelie stares at her blankly, then looks towards Isaac, as if to say, stranger danger.
“She is giving me Golem vibes,” he mumbles, before smiling at her and fishing his booking voucher out of his pocket. “We have booked the family package.”
***
The massage makes me feel like my every muscle has turned into mush. I didn’t realise how much tension I’ve been carrying until skilled hands started kneading it out of my shoulders.
Meanwhile, Isaac spends the first five minutes of his massage sounding deeply uncomfortable.
“Am I supposed to make noises?”
“No, sir.”
“What if I accidentally fall asleep?”
“That’s fine.”
“What if I drool?”
“Also fine.”
I can hear the therapist’s professional patience thinning like paper with every new question.
The pedicure comes next.
Isaac holds Amelie, who becomes fascinated with the bubbling foot bath. Twenty minutes later, he’s reclined in a chair, looking personally betrayed by how relaxing it is.
“I hate that I enjoy this,” he mutters as a woman massages lotion into his hairy calves.
***
The facials are where things truly fall apart. We’re lying beside each other with green face masks slathered thickly across our skin and cucumber slices over our eyes.
An attendant gently takes Amelie for a few minutes while we “relax”.
Our daughter immediately decides she has been abandoned by her father. Her outraged screech echoes throughout the entire relaxation room. Isaac jerks upright instantly, cucumber slices flying onto the floor.
“She wants Daddy,” he says, already reaching for her after washing away the damp green clay cracking across his face. The second Amelie lands back on his chest, she quiets.
Isaac settles back down grumpily, explaining what Mum is doing to our daughter while Amelie enthusiastically grabs at the cucumber slices over my eyes.
“Tiny gremlin,” he mutters fondly.
By the time we leave, I feel loose-limbed and floaty in a way I haven’t for months. I needed this.
***
At home, Isaac takes Amelie downstairs while I head upstairs to get ready.
The bedroom is soft with evening light.
I stand in front of the mirror for a long moment after my shower, towel wrapped around me, fingertips brushing over my freshly cut hair.
The stylist took an inch off. Now, it falls sleek and shining down my back like dark silk, pinned partially up with delicate jewelled combs that catch the light every time I move. I love the look.
I take my time getting dressed, actually enjoying my little rituals. The make-up goes on slowly. Soft gold shimmer at the corners of my eyes. Mascara darkening my lashes.
And finally, deep plum lipstick. I am feeling dangerous today.
When I finish, I look at myself in the mirror. The woman staring back at me looks different from the one who, just weeks ago, was barely keeping it together.
A little wiser, maybe, but stronger, too.
Downstairs, I hear Amelie shriek happily, followed immediately by Isaac saying, “No. That is not for babies with no teeth,” in the tone of a man losing a battle against a four-month-old.
I can’t help but smile.